


Blood on the Doorpost

by fabricdragon



Series: The Book of John [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dark Mycroft, Death Threats, Explicit Language, Jim is no angel either, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Threats, Threats of torture, Unhealthy Relationships, honesty this is consenting, referennces to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: John gets kidnapped, and somehow this leads to sex, but not  the way John ever expected.





	1. Chapter 1

John was leaving the bookstore with his new purchases–books covering emotional abuse, relationships, verbal abuse, and depression,  because he really didn’t think that he could convince a therapist that half of the things he had gone through were real– when he got kidnapped.

His arms were full, the bag was tearing, and he was head down on a public street heading for the tube–when a couple of men dragged him into an alley and clapped a foul smelling rag over his face.  He managed to kick one of them hard before the dizziness took him to the ground.  When he woke up handcuffed in the boot of a car, he realized it was probably Mycroft.

The problem with that– as he was all too aware– was that if it WAS Mycroft, calling the police wouldn’t help.

He did still have his phone, and even with his hands cuffed behind his back he could probably reach it, but no one he could call would do any…

 _What the hell,_ he thought.   _In for a penny, in for a pound…_ He hit the speed dial for G. Angel.  He distantly heard it ring, then pick up; he started shouting into the car, “Mycroft you ASSHOLE, kidnapping me isn’t going to help!” The only response was a sudden sweet smell in the boot, and then he was too sick and dizzy to do anything but retch.

He was hauled out of the car, sick and miserable, gasping at the fresh air. It was an abandoned warehouse-again- and he could smell the water nearby.  He was dragged to a chair and handcuffed to it.  He could barely pick his head up but he recognized the shoes when he saw them.

“I’ll puke on your damned shoes, you know,” John said, and noted with some amusement that he stepped backwards just a bit.

“That would only make your last few minutes less pleasant if you did,” Mycroft answered.

“So you’re definitely killing me then? For what? You wanted Sherlock to get rid of me.”

“You’ve gone and put IDEAS in his head!” Mycroft snarled at him. “He’s not listening to me.”

“Good for him,” John said, then his head was ringing from the blow, not just the drugs.

John fell back on the older habits and relaxed as much as he could. Just keep breathing, don’t answer them– name, rank, serial number.

Mycroft was ranting at him about Sherlock, about telling him he was wrong, about going back to him if it would make Sherlock reasonable again. He went on, and on.  Eventually, he demanded that John answer him.

“Answer what? You said a lot.” John was feeling clearer headed by now, of course, but he kept his head down– _look beaten, look confused, give them nothing_. He thought he could get out of one of the cuffs, but not the other, unfortunately.

“You are going to go back to Sherlock and convince him you were just upset, get him to be reasonable again.”

He should probably pretend to cooperate, but this was Mycroft–he would figure it out anyway.

“No.”

Mycroft looked at him coldly, “Very well, some of my boys are going to give you a chance to change your mind.  Otherwise? Well, we have a river conveniently nearby.”

There was a sound like a soft pop, and Mycroft staggered and fell, his arm visible on the floor. There were sounds John knew as gunfire and more soft noises, some like the first, some more like a silenced shot.

Eventually it was quiet.

“Your boys, Mycroft?” a familiar Irish lilt sang out. “I doubt they could convince Johnny-boy of anything– he’s rather stubborn.”

 _Oh thank God._   John blinked a few times. _Right, being rescued by Moriarty, from a Holmes: that’s sort of backwards…_

“Of course,” Jim continued cheerfully, “they couldn’t convince me either.”

John managed to lift his head, just a little, to see Jim Moriarty walking over and booting Mycroft softly with the tip of his shoe. Mycroft had a dart sticking out of his arm and was obviously breathing.

John slowly looked up, because the room spun and his head hurt. “You didn’t kill him? I’m surprised– I suppose it has something to do with your games… By the way, I may have a concussion.”

“Well, nothing to worry about: Sherlock will be here in a few more minutes. Won’t it be funny when he finds you here with his brother?”

“It would be hysterical, but I’d rather not. Can you just drop me at the hospital?”

Jim walked over and looked down at him. “What? Don’t you want Sherlock  to come  rescue you?”

“No, really, I’d rather not.  He’ll probably be delighted and it will just reinforce his bad habits, and he’ll think we’re back to where we were… and no.” John tried to shake his head and the room spun.

Jim was holding a bottle of water to his lips. “You… DON’T… want Sherlock to rescue you? Isn’t it traditional?”

“Yeah, it is. So is his being an abusive git who never has to consider what I want because he knows better than I do. Rescuing me again would just play into it and I’m trying to get out of that.”

Jim frowned, “Sherlock? Abusive? I think we need to talk, Johnny.”

“Can we do it after the hospital?” John asked tiredly. “Because you said we don’t have much time.”

“Sebastian? Get him out. Leave his jacket.”

John really didn’t remember much other than riding in the back –seat, not the boot this time– of a nice car, and staggering into the emergency room at Bart’s.

He was picking up his medication and waiting for Mary to come get him when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“John?!” It was Sherlock, sounding all kinds of upset. “You still have your phone!”

“Of course I have my phone, Sherlock. If you didn’t find it in your brother’s possession after he kidnapped me, you can safely assume it’s either in the street where he grabbed me along with the books I had just purchased– which I expect him to pay for along with a new jacket and shirt– or still on  my person.”

Sherlock paused. “So Mycroft DID kidnap you?”

“Yes, and either he or his men hit me, and I have a concussion because I told him that NO I wasn’t going to go back, tell you I was wrong about him, and convince you to be reasonable.” John sighed into the phone. “He also said he was going to kill me and dump my body in the river if his boys couldn’t torture me into doing it his way, so I expect he’s upset.”

There was a much longer pause. John could picture him standing there with a blank look as his mind fit facts together. “Who rescued you?”

“My guardian angel, Sherlock. The important part is I’m having Mary pick me up and I’m heading home from the hospital.  If you want to talk to me– assuming Mycroft doesn’t have my house blown up or anything–you can wait ‘til tomorrow. Oh, and Sherlock? You might want to watch your own back. Mycroft doesn’t seem to like people telling him ‘No’.” He hung up.

Mary picked him up in the car, and he dozed in the passenger seat. Eventually he realized he had no idea where they were.

“Mary? Where are we?”

“Heading to a safe house.  Apparently there were some unpleasant types lurking around the house.”

“I did suggest to Sherlock that Mycroft might try something like that.”

As he drifted in and out of consciousness that night, it occurred to him to be grateful that Mary was a nurse. He supposed it was useful to Jim, too. 

He wondered just how upset Mycroft was…


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should have asked about the security precautions.

After a shower and some breakfast, and finding out that Mary had packed a few changes of clothing, he got taken downstairs to find Jim.  Mary told him to go in and she walked away. “I don’t think my being there would help,” she said.  

Now, despite being rescued several times over, it was still a bit unnerving to find the –supposedly dead– criminal mastermind yelling into a phone about making shoes out of someone.

“Now fix it or your dog will be chewing you up as a pair of SLIPPERS!” he snarled into the phone. He hung up and turned pleasantly to John, “Headache better?”

“Did you know it’s intensely unnerving when you do that?”

“Do what, Johnny, ask about your headache?”

“No, go from murderous psychopath to normal conversation.”

Jim snickered. “Yes, well, keeps people on their toes. So, I think I need to be filled in, because I’m obviously missing something: what’s going on with you, Sherl, and Mycroft?” Jim frowned at him, “And sit down, you’re wobbling.”

“I’d prefer to stand, actually.”

“Sit before you faceplant into my rug; I hate getting blood in the carpets– that’s why we have drop cloths.”

John sighed and sat down. “You do know it’s really STRANGE talking to you?”

“As strange as it was kissing me?”

John winced, “No.”

Jim stared at him for a moment. “You do keep surprising me, Johnny. Anyway, I heard all the business at the warehouse– your phone line was open.  I get the feeling I missed something before that.”

“I went to talk to Sherlock, after… after I met you.  Mycroft was there, and I may have been a bit blunt in my opinions.”

“Blunt how?”

“I told him to eat a dick,” John said wincing again.

Jim stared at him and then giggled, and then laughed, and then collapsed over the arm of his chair cackling.  John pulled his remaining dignity around himself and waited.

Jim was wiping tears from his eyes, “Oh, Oh that’s priceless.”

“Well, I finally realized that Sherlock is an abusive ass– but mostly because he’s so self-absorbed he doesn’t think other people are real– but Mycroft… He’s been isolating and controlling Sherlock for years…”

John told him, as best he could, what he’d seen, how Mycroft had behaved: it helped that Jim had heard the rants in the warehouse...

“I told Sherlock to watch his back.  Mycroft obviously wants him to do something, and the fact that I threw a wrench into it has him pretty angry.”

“Don’t let anyone tell you you’re dumb, Johnny,” Jim said, cocking his head slightly. “I think you’re right.  I thought Mycroft was a bit hung up on his brother; I used that enough, but…”  He shook his head. “I hadn’t realized how much the Iceman was manipulating things.”  He grinned at John, “You certainly did upset him, though– he never even yelled like that at ME!”

“I’m used to him being pretty controlled. He wasn’t. It was… “ he trailed off.

“Hmm. Yes, very odd,” Jim nodded. “So you probably better hide out for a bit.”

“Right,” John said, looking at him cautiously. “So… uh…” He looked around: there were two guards looking at him rather intently.

“Oh, just ignore them, Johnny boy; I always do.”

“I’m not used to people glaring at me while I try to have a conversation.”

“I thought you used to deal with Sherlock? Wouldn’t that be a regular occurrence?”

“No, they usually glared at him, and in any case he avoids…” John sighed, “everything, actually. Emotions, touching, anything.”

“Well, there’s a reason I called him the Virgin.” Jim shrugged. “Whereas I’m Mr. Sex, obviously.”

John muttered something and Jim immediately grinned, “What’s that?”

“I said I could tell from the way you kissed.” John was certain he was bright pink to his ears.

Jim grinned at him. “However did I overlook… probably because you were so hung up on darling Sherlock.”

John sat back with a sigh, “I’m STILL hung up on him, but until he changes his behavior I’m not going back.”

Jim got up and walked over. “I’m not changing my behavior, Johnny, but I know you liked it.”

“Seriously? You want to talk about this with …?” he waved at the guards.

Jim smirked, “You want to talk in private?”

“I’d prefer it.”

Jim shrugged and looked at the two guards. “Take him to my room.  You know the drill.”

The two guards moved forward and grabbed John’s arms, lifting him out of the chair.

“What?”

“Security precautions, Johnny!” Jim called after him. “I’ll be up in a minute.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John doesn't think he is dangerous.... silly boy  
> Contains Sex and voyeurism and idiot guards

The goons took him into a bedroom and started peeling clothes off him. John argued.  One of the goons made the mistake of trying to force the issue, seeing as how he was at least six inches taller than John and several stone heavier.

~

Jim and Sebastian came in after hearing the crashing noises.  After a moments stunned silence Sebastian tackled John and pinned him to the floor.

“Get OFF me, you!” John snarled.

One of the goons was unconscious already and the other one got up shakily, drew a pistol and put it to John’s head as Sebastian pinned him down.  John went limp.

“Good heavens!” Jim said from the doorway. “However did he get the drop on two of you?”

“Sorry, Sir,” the one guard said as he looked distinctly embarrassed.

“They tried to take my clothes off, what did you expect me to do?” John growled as Sebastian pulled him to his feet with both hands behind him.

“You said you wanted to talk to me in private Johnny,” Jim said, sounding very reasonable.

“There are MANACLES on the bed, and they tried to strip my clothes off!”

“Well, yes?” Jim said, looking confused at him.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “I’m guessing the Doc didn’t know what security precautions we use?”

Jim blinked a few times. “Oh. Hmmm… “ He looked thoughtfully at John. “You’re dangerous, and before I can be alone in a room with you–“

“I’M dangerous?” John howled incredulously. “You’re the criminal mastermind with the Semtex and the snipers!”

Jim looked amused. “Tell me, Johnny, without the snipers and the guards, do you think I might possibly be in a bit of danger?”

“From me?!”

“From the man who knocked out one guard and was close to taking out the other… yes.” Jim was starting to giggle.

John stood still abruptly. “Uh… I hadn’t thought of it that way?” he twisted his head around a bit to look at Sebastian, and winced as his head twinged. “I’m usually the kidnap victim, or the hostage, or scrambling to keep up. I don’t think of myself as being dangerous.”

Sebastian snorted and muttered something about “daft idiots” in one of the languages of Afghanistan. John raised an eyebrow and told him, “Yeah, probably, but I did just get hit in the head yesterday,” in the same language.

Sebastian almost dropped him. “You speak Dari?” he asked back in English.

“Dari and Pashto, at least well enough to get by and ask people who needs medical treatment.”

Jim sighed, “Can you two boys compare military service AFTER you strip the combatant and restrain his hands, or do you want Sebastian to sit in on the conversation?”

“I suspect I’ve developed an allergy to handcuffs– too much Mycroft, you know? How about you have Sebastian sit in? At least he doesn’t glare at me.”

Jim waved at the guard, “Take that other idiot and get out.”

He grabbed the other man and dragged him out hurriedly.  John straightened out his shirt and went and picked up his sweater off the floor. “Oh, here,” he said, handing Sebastian a gun. “The unconscious guy dropped it.” He looked pointedly at Jim. “If I meant to start something, I would have.”

Jim blinked at him. “Huh,” he said, putting his own gun away.

Sebastian tucked the gun away and expertly patted John down. John held his hands out and let him.

“I don’t have a problem with basic security– I have a PROBLEM with being stripped and chained to a bed!”

“Not one of your kinks?” Jim grinned at him.

“Not with them, and not without a safeword, no.”

Sebastian coughed a lot and took up a station by the door.

Jim just stared at him, “You were rooming with Sherlock for HOW long?”

“Nothing ever happened. He made it quite clear he was married to his work, and wasn’t interested.”

“But you were?” Jim walked up close, like he’d been on the roof.

“I guess? Maybe?” he shrugged and glanced at Sebastian. “Not like I never experimented. I was front lines, not a lot of women out there.” He shrugged, “But… uh… I normally don’t get interested in guys.”

Jim licked his lips, which seemed to be very fascinating for some reason, “Normally?”

“I was interested in Sherlock, but like I said, it never went anywhere… and, uh… that kiss could change a man’s mind.”

“Sherlock was a firm believer in experiments, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Interested in seeing if you can repeat it?”

“I was wondering…”

Jim grabbed his hair and pulled him in.  It was vicious and dangerous and… yeah, adrenalin was firing up every nerve and even when Jim started kissing him more softly, he still knew…

Knew he was one wrong move from a bullet between the eyes.

Knew that this was a man who would gut him without a second thought.

Knew this absolutely, positively wasn’t safe, or sane, or going to last…

And he didn’t care one bit.

He distantly realized Sebastian had pulled Jim’s gun from his holster. Realized someone was still watching as he fumbled with Jim’s pants. Tried to say something about privacy as he got pushed down onto the bed…

“If you didn’t know I like an audience by now, Johnny boy, you aren’t paying attention,” Jim said as he came up for air.

“I’m not into an audience at all,” John gasped, trying to clear his head, but Jim was not helping.

“The alternative is being restrained,” Jim said, biting– hard– into John’s stomach on the way down.

“Nope. Allergic,” John said, flipping Jim over and pushing him down into the bed while he kissed him.

“Mycroft?” Jim somehow got his legs wrapped around John and was making contact between their groins that short circuited John’s brain.

Somehow John found himself with Jim on his back, and he wasn’t sure how. “Mycroft, Sherlock, you, insurgents…” and then his brain lost all track of everything as a finger slipped inside him and–

John had flickers of awareness besides “more” and electric arcs running through his nerves–but in a good way.

John half suffocating Jim as he kissed him.

Jim laughing happily at him as they both scrambled for dominance.

Jim biting at his shoulder–which hurt like hell– at the same time as an orgasm somehow turned that into ecstasy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, between that and the concussion, that he passed out almost immediately afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to be clear, Jim had no intent on forcing anything on John (well ok, teasing and scaring him a bit)   
> Jim is physically smaller and in an unarmed fight, quite capable of being damaged. (as John just proved by taking out two of his IDIOT bodyguards)   
> really, honestly... safety precaution. and as it happens, not needed.


End file.
